there was once a man by the name of
Okaloosa who had five sons and one on
the way
now Okaloosa was known as a great and
powerful hunter at times he would pick
up his hunting weapons and set off down
the path to hunt at other times as his
sons grew older he would teach them the
art and the skill of hunting or one day
a Volusia said goodbye to his wife to
his sons he picked up his hunting
weapons and set off down the path to
hunt well the son crossed the sky and it
grew dark and Okaloosa did not come back
and the brothers turned to one another
and said our father has not returned or
they lay down to sleep that night awoke
the next morning the Sun began its
journey across the sky and still
Bogalusa had not come back and again the
brothers turned to one another and said
our Father has not returned or days went
by weeks passed and Okaloosa did not
come back but the number of times the
brothers turned to one another and sin
our Father has not returned grew less
and less until the day came when no one
spoke the name of a guru sir well
several months passed it was time for
that baby to be born and the child
appeared alert from birth seemed to
appear right into his mother’s eyes and
ate and grew strong and crawled about
and pulled himself up and toddled about
the village and observed others in the
village other families girls with their
mothers boys with their fathers and when
he was able to put together enough words
he posed a question to his mother at an
evening meal where is my father
and again the brothers turned to one
another and said yes her father did not
return let us go and look for him so
they picked up their hunting weapons and
set off down the path that Olga Lucia
had taken and they walked for a time
losing the path and finding it and
losing it and finding it again until
soon they came upon the rusted hunting
weapons of Okaloosa and not far from
those weapons lay what was left of their
father it appeared as though he had been
attacked by an
and the brothers dropped to their knees
and begin to wail and to moan and their
grief was so deep their cries reached
the heavens and the elements heard and
took pity and converged and imbued each
one with the power and the first one
stood and said I feel I have a POW to
reconnect our father’s bones and he
stepped forward and said about that task
ii said i feel i have the power to put
together the muscle the fiber the sinew
he said about that task the third said i
feel i have the power to get the blood
moving warm through his veins once again
the fourth one said i feel i have the
power to make his flesh whole and the
last ones that i feel I have the power
to breathe life into our Father and he
breathed into ogre Lucia Oh
chest began to rise and fall and they
lifted their father and they brought him
back to the village well over loose’
stayed in his Hut for nine days and that
was the custom if one was said to have
returned from the dead he had shaved his
head and a feast was held a cow was
killed the meat of the cow was cooked
the tail of the cow was given to oval
oosa as a reminder the ends would
decorate it with strips of leather and
cowrie shells and beads and he walked
about with that tout couch else which
thinking of what his sons had done for
him and decided he wanted to give the
cow tail smidge to the child who was
most responsible for his return so he
gathered together everyone in the
village and announced what he was going
to do well immediately they began to
argue about who should get it son said
ah it should go to the one who put his
bones together in the first place as I
said no the one who put together the
muscle and the fiber allowing him
movement some said it should be the one
who got the blood coursing warm through
his veins once again others said no the
one who made his flesh whole but still
more he said it should go to the one who
breathed life into obelus no one could
agree well on the third day Okaloosa
reassemble them all and said today I
have made my decision I will give this
cow else which
– my youngest child for had he not asked
the question where is my father I would
still be lying cold and stiff in the
land of the dead and an underscore a
long-held belief for the Liberian people
that one is not truly dead unless he has
forgotten and not spoken of again I
believe in the power of words I believe
in the power of story to inform and
transform I believe in the power of
story to call us to attention to invite
us to lean in to embrace us to serve as
a window a door a bridge but most often
a mirror a reflection of our own unique
individual and collective human journey
in all of its complexities storytelling
is arguably humankind’s oldest art form
for thousands of years stories have been
told to entertain but they also served
as containers that gradually came to
hold the wisdom of Ages of accumulated
human experience as language evolved so
in turn did the evolution of the oral
transmission of experiences ideas
thoughts and beliefs ancient stories
reveal mankind’s sense of awe and wonder
about the earth about the universe the
sky and the heavens his strong desire to
make sense of and understand his
environment and his place in it
observations of human and animal
interactions and behaviors brought forth
stories that allow us to observe to
recognize to question to feared laugh
act and have empathy for ourselves human
nature has not changed all that much in
thousands of years extraordinary
individuals long gone from the earth
were brought to life once again just as
in the story of Okaloosa each time the
stories of their life
and their accomplishments was told and
retold and retold I was fortunate to
grow up in a household with a father
John Edward Blake senior who had a
passion for language and for literature
and after a long day’s work he would try
and find some quiet time away from five
kids and a wife so that he could write
have some quiet time the door was shut
which meant keep out I would open it and
I would go in just to sit on the floor
and be in his presence I am the ultimate
daddy’s girl well over time he began
reading out loud to me the works of
african-american poets and writers he
spoke the words as though they were
pearls and cast them at my feet at six
years old he handed to me the complete
poems of african-american poet Paul
Laurence Dunbar and selected a poem for
me to memorize six years old that was
pretty soon after I had learned to read
but when I looked at the Spelling’s the
language of Dunbar’s work language
written written language that
represented an oral dialect African
American or Negro dialect
I heard immediately in my head the
language and the rhythm of my
great-aunts and my great uncles it’s a
dialect that evolved when people were
brought here during the time of
enslavement and they came with their own
languages with their own distinct
articulation patterns melodies rhythm
and syntax structure they didn’t sit
down and put them in a classroom and say
now we’re going to learn English syntax
and structure so when they encountered
English they applied as most people do
for whom English is the second language
their own articulation patterns from
their indigenous language and that’s how
it evolved but if you hear someone from
France lazy smallsy’s woman Nadia nor
someone from India was being you say
that’s kind of exotic or romantic when
it came to African people it was
considered backward or ignorant Dunbar
created of spelling of those words and
the language and the melody and the
rhythm with brilliance and with dignity
go away and quit that noise Miss Lucy
that music book away
what’s the use to keep on trying if you
practice till you gray
you can’t start no notes of flying like
the ones that ran some rings from the
kitchen to the Big Woods when Melinda
says you ain’t got the natural organs
for the make the sound come right you
ain’t got the turns and twists for the
make it sweet and light I tell you one
thing now I must Lucy and I’m telling
you the truth
would have come to real right singing
Tino is the thing to do he’s enough for
folks to holla looking at the lines and
doctor and ain’t no one consents it and
the team comes in in spots but for real
Merlot just music there to stretch your
heart and clings just you stand and
listen with me so what my father saw how
quickly I memorized the first poem he
gave to me he began to write monologues
and create passages of literature for me
to recite I was standing up in front of
people at 6 years old
reciting the wonderful story palms of
parlance Dunbar and passages of
literature that never appeared in any
text book I ever had in school that was
where the seeds for my journey as a
storyteller were planted but it was in
my later discovery of the full stories
of West Africa and particularly the
richness and the significance of the
oral tradition that the true broader and
deeper story of the cultural legacy that
had been handed to me was revealed the
stories validated my identity they
validated my humanity and for everyone
assembled here today or anyone watching
from a remote location if you go back
far enough in your own family or ethnic
history you will discover an oral
tradition be at the jollies or the
grills of West Africa or the Shona King
of Ireland the English bard the dust and
going of India of the maggid of Jewish
tradition many of the traditional
stories that have been adapted for
today’s contemporary animated films date
far back to a time when
before the Grimm’s brothers ever had a
thought of writing them down many worse
tales told orally by women about the
dangers that lurk for young girls when
they reached puberty or sexual maturity
many of those dangers still lurk in our
time certainly not in the literary form
of a wolf dressed in grandma’s nightgown
in the bed but wolves who lurk on the
internet or in your workplace in some
oral cultures traditional stories were
revisited and studied for lessons that
might be applicable when age-old
conflicts and disagreements reoccur but
it is the act of telling stories out
loud that creates an intimate
relationship between the teller and the
listener there is no fourth wall it is a
direct organic human to human
interaction when a story is well told
the listener is immediately drawn in
there is a beautiful documentary called
the great dance a hunter story that
follows three poison hunters across the
blazing hot Kalahari Desert as they run
over the course of three days tracking a
kubu a small antelope periodically
they’ll stop and observe a bush a branch
a leaf the ground and in total silence
using a combinations of hand signals
communicate to one another about the
animals paths finally the kudu
completely exhausted stops running and
the hunters have meat to bring back for
everyone to share later everyone gathers
around the fire and with bellies full
listen as the hunters relived the hunt
with a combination of storytelling and
dance taking everyone on the journey in
the ancient kingdoms of song hi and
Molly and today’s contemporary cultures
of Senegal Gambia and Guinea the shaly
the griot served as a kind of Borel
keeper of Records
he served multiple roles he was a
genealogist he was an interpreter an
instrumentalist a ritual celebrant but
his primary role was the preservation
and the oral transmission of his peoples
history traditions and shared cultural
beliefs now certainly the full breadth
and scope of the human experience is not
going to be embodied in a single story
but in the wealth of stories of the
varied peoples of the earth I am drawn
to traditional stories the myths the
legends historical epics the tall tales
but mostly the folk tales the folklore
stories passed down from mouth to ear to
mouth to ear stories that traveled from
village to village across deserts across
oceans and the halls of slave ships
stories birthed in slave cabins in
tobacco and cotton and rice fields
stories that traveled as the varied
peoples of the earth migrated from one
part of the world to the other taking
their stories with them the stories
might change to fit the new cultural
adaptation but the essence of the story
always remained it’s why you can find
multiple versions of the same story in
various cultures and countries
throughout the world
those stories even when they’ve been
changed or adapted still contain those
kernels of wisdom as this particular
adaptation of a traditional story that
made its way across the ocean from the
Asian continent here to the west there
was a man and a woman who contemplated
the difference between heaven and hell
after all said the husband no one we
know has ever returned from either place
to bear witness conversations about life
after death became more frequent as they
grew older well said the wife why let
death come upon us why let death be our
guide let us seek the answer while we
yet have life so hand in hand they
descended into the lowest depths of Hell
found themselves in a room where a table
spread from end to end
far as the eye could see on the table
was all manner of food sweet meats and
rolls fruits and vegetables curved
handle jugs filled with honey and wine
and neck chairs ringed the table but
each one who occupied a seat was din and
one with eyes sunken in cheeks hollowed
out how could this be and then they saw
each one had elbows that no longer bent
and had been commanded to eat with a
fork that was five feet long so while
they were able to spear morsels of food
they could not get the food into their
mouths and so here in the midst of
Plenty people were left wanting for all
eternity ah so this is hell well hand in
hand they left the lowest steps of Hell
ascended into the uttermost reaches of
heaven found themselves in a room where
a table spread from end to end as far as
the eye could see on the table was all
manner of food sweet meats and rolls
fruits vegetables curved handle jugs
filled with honey and wine and nectar
chairs ringed the table and each one who
occupied a seat had elbows that no
longer bent and had been commanded to
eat with a fork that was five feet long
but here they were robust there was
conversation laughter and joy how could
this be and then they saw each one which
spear a morsel of food then turned and
begin to feed each other when speaking
of the importance of preserving
traditional stories revered storyteller
story mentor story coach Elizabeth Ellis
says they’re not good because they’re
old they’re old because they’re good
some time ago I was invited to represent
America the stimming voices festival in
Basel Switzerland I speak neither French
nor German I told all of my stories in
English over the course of the festival
and my last set on Sunday afternoon I
packed up my instruments I was heading
away from the festival grounds when I
heard someone coming up behind me miss
miss miss miss miss and I turned to see
a couple kind of jogging over towards me
and she said um English very hard when I
hear English my ear closed but when I
hear your stories my ear open an honour
and spirit of a brown man who fed his
daughter the most precious of pearls in
the spirit of every storyteller across
time and place past and present who
speaks the traditional tales I
encourages all to create moments where
we can gather together to hear the
telling of the age-old stories and in so
doing allow our ears and our hearts to
open
[Music]
[Applause]
you
Okaloosa who had five sons and one on
the way
now Okaloosa was known as a great and
powerful hunter at times he would pick
up his hunting weapons and set off down
the path to hunt at other times as his
sons grew older he would teach them the
art and the skill of hunting or one day
a Volusia said goodbye to his wife to
his sons he picked up his hunting
weapons and set off down the path to
hunt well the son crossed the sky and it
grew dark and Okaloosa did not come back
and the brothers turned to one another
and said our father has not returned or
they lay down to sleep that night awoke
the next morning the Sun began its
journey across the sky and still
Bogalusa had not come back and again the
brothers turned to one another and said
our Father has not returned or days went
by weeks passed and Okaloosa did not
come back but the number of times the
brothers turned to one another and sin
our Father has not returned grew less
and less until the day came when no one
spoke the name of a guru sir well
several months passed it was time for
that baby to be born and the child
appeared alert from birth seemed to
appear right into his mother’s eyes and
ate and grew strong and crawled about
and pulled himself up and toddled about
the village and observed others in the
village other families girls with their
mothers boys with their fathers and when
he was able to put together enough words
he posed a question to his mother at an
evening meal where is my father
and again the brothers turned to one
another and said yes her father did not
return let us go and look for him so
they picked up their hunting weapons and
set off down the path that Olga Lucia
had taken and they walked for a time
losing the path and finding it and
losing it and finding it again until
soon they came upon the rusted hunting
weapons of Okaloosa and not far from
those weapons lay what was left of their
father it appeared as though he had been
attacked by an
and the brothers dropped to their knees
and begin to wail and to moan and their
grief was so deep their cries reached
the heavens and the elements heard and
took pity and converged and imbued each
one with the power and the first one
stood and said I feel I have a POW to
reconnect our father’s bones and he
stepped forward and said about that task
ii said i feel i have the power to put
together the muscle the fiber the sinew
he said about that task the third said i
feel i have the power to get the blood
moving warm through his veins once again
the fourth one said i feel i have the
power to make his flesh whole and the
last ones that i feel I have the power
to breathe life into our Father and he
breathed into ogre Lucia Oh
chest began to rise and fall and they
lifted their father and they brought him
back to the village well over loose’
stayed in his Hut for nine days and that
was the custom if one was said to have
returned from the dead he had shaved his
head and a feast was held a cow was
killed the meat of the cow was cooked
the tail of the cow was given to oval
oosa as a reminder the ends would
decorate it with strips of leather and
cowrie shells and beads and he walked
about with that tout couch else which
thinking of what his sons had done for
him and decided he wanted to give the
cow tail smidge to the child who was
most responsible for his return so he
gathered together everyone in the
village and announced what he was going
to do well immediately they began to
argue about who should get it son said
ah it should go to the one who put his
bones together in the first place as I
said no the one who put together the
muscle and the fiber allowing him
movement some said it should be the one
who got the blood coursing warm through
his veins once again others said no the
one who made his flesh whole but still
more he said it should go to the one who
breathed life into obelus no one could
agree well on the third day Okaloosa
reassemble them all and said today I
have made my decision I will give this
cow else which
– my youngest child for had he not asked
the question where is my father I would
still be lying cold and stiff in the
land of the dead and an underscore a
long-held belief for the Liberian people
that one is not truly dead unless he has
forgotten and not spoken of again I
believe in the power of words I believe
in the power of story to inform and
transform I believe in the power of
story to call us to attention to invite
us to lean in to embrace us to serve as
a window a door a bridge but most often
a mirror a reflection of our own unique
individual and collective human journey
in all of its complexities storytelling
is arguably humankind’s oldest art form
for thousands of years stories have been
told to entertain but they also served
as containers that gradually came to
hold the wisdom of Ages of accumulated
human experience as language evolved so
in turn did the evolution of the oral
transmission of experiences ideas
thoughts and beliefs ancient stories
reveal mankind’s sense of awe and wonder
about the earth about the universe the
sky and the heavens his strong desire to
make sense of and understand his
environment and his place in it
observations of human and animal
interactions and behaviors brought forth
stories that allow us to observe to
recognize to question to feared laugh
act and have empathy for ourselves human
nature has not changed all that much in
thousands of years extraordinary
individuals long gone from the earth
were brought to life once again just as
in the story of Okaloosa each time the
stories of their life
and their accomplishments was told and
retold and retold I was fortunate to
grow up in a household with a father
John Edward Blake senior who had a
passion for language and for literature
and after a long day’s work he would try
and find some quiet time away from five
kids and a wife so that he could write
have some quiet time the door was shut
which meant keep out I would open it and
I would go in just to sit on the floor
and be in his presence I am the ultimate
daddy’s girl well over time he began
reading out loud to me the works of
african-american poets and writers he
spoke the words as though they were
pearls and cast them at my feet at six
years old he handed to me the complete
poems of african-american poet Paul
Laurence Dunbar and selected a poem for
me to memorize six years old that was
pretty soon after I had learned to read
but when I looked at the Spelling’s the
language of Dunbar’s work language
written written language that
represented an oral dialect African
American or Negro dialect
I heard immediately in my head the
language and the rhythm of my
great-aunts and my great uncles it’s a
dialect that evolved when people were
brought here during the time of
enslavement and they came with their own
languages with their own distinct
articulation patterns melodies rhythm
and syntax structure they didn’t sit
down and put them in a classroom and say
now we’re going to learn English syntax
and structure so when they encountered
English they applied as most people do
for whom English is the second language
their own articulation patterns from
their indigenous language and that’s how
it evolved but if you hear someone from
France lazy smallsy’s woman Nadia nor
someone from India was being you say
that’s kind of exotic or romantic when
it came to African people it was
considered backward or ignorant Dunbar
created of spelling of those words and
the language and the melody and the
rhythm with brilliance and with dignity
go away and quit that noise Miss Lucy
that music book away
what’s the use to keep on trying if you
practice till you gray
you can’t start no notes of flying like
the ones that ran some rings from the
kitchen to the Big Woods when Melinda
says you ain’t got the natural organs
for the make the sound come right you
ain’t got the turns and twists for the
make it sweet and light I tell you one
thing now I must Lucy and I’m telling
you the truth
would have come to real right singing
Tino is the thing to do he’s enough for
folks to holla looking at the lines and
doctor and ain’t no one consents it and
the team comes in in spots but for real
Merlot just music there to stretch your
heart and clings just you stand and
listen with me so what my father saw how
quickly I memorized the first poem he
gave to me he began to write monologues
and create passages of literature for me
to recite I was standing up in front of
people at 6 years old
reciting the wonderful story palms of
parlance Dunbar and passages of
literature that never appeared in any
text book I ever had in school that was
where the seeds for my journey as a
storyteller were planted but it was in
my later discovery of the full stories
of West Africa and particularly the
richness and the significance of the
oral tradition that the true broader and
deeper story of the cultural legacy that
had been handed to me was revealed the
stories validated my identity they
validated my humanity and for everyone
assembled here today or anyone watching
from a remote location if you go back
far enough in your own family or ethnic
history you will discover an oral
tradition be at the jollies or the
grills of West Africa or the Shona King
of Ireland the English bard the dust and
going of India of the maggid of Jewish
tradition many of the traditional
stories that have been adapted for
today’s contemporary animated films date
far back to a time when
before the Grimm’s brothers ever had a
thought of writing them down many worse
tales told orally by women about the
dangers that lurk for young girls when
they reached puberty or sexual maturity
many of those dangers still lurk in our
time certainly not in the literary form
of a wolf dressed in grandma’s nightgown
in the bed but wolves who lurk on the
internet or in your workplace in some
oral cultures traditional stories were
revisited and studied for lessons that
might be applicable when age-old
conflicts and disagreements reoccur but
it is the act of telling stories out
loud that creates an intimate
relationship between the teller and the
listener there is no fourth wall it is a
direct organic human to human
interaction when a story is well told
the listener is immediately drawn in
there is a beautiful documentary called
the great dance a hunter story that
follows three poison hunters across the
blazing hot Kalahari Desert as they run
over the course of three days tracking a
kubu a small antelope periodically
they’ll stop and observe a bush a branch
a leaf the ground and in total silence
using a combinations of hand signals
communicate to one another about the
animals paths finally the kudu
completely exhausted stops running and
the hunters have meat to bring back for
everyone to share later everyone gathers
around the fire and with bellies full
listen as the hunters relived the hunt
with a combination of storytelling and
dance taking everyone on the journey in
the ancient kingdoms of song hi and
Molly and today’s contemporary cultures
of Senegal Gambia and Guinea the shaly
the griot served as a kind of Borel
keeper of Records
he served multiple roles he was a
genealogist he was an interpreter an
instrumentalist a ritual celebrant but
his primary role was the preservation
and the oral transmission of his peoples
history traditions and shared cultural
beliefs now certainly the full breadth
and scope of the human experience is not
going to be embodied in a single story
but in the wealth of stories of the
varied peoples of the earth I am drawn
to traditional stories the myths the
legends historical epics the tall tales
but mostly the folk tales the folklore
stories passed down from mouth to ear to
mouth to ear stories that traveled from
village to village across deserts across
oceans and the halls of slave ships
stories birthed in slave cabins in
tobacco and cotton and rice fields
stories that traveled as the varied
peoples of the earth migrated from one
part of the world to the other taking
their stories with them the stories
might change to fit the new cultural
adaptation but the essence of the story
always remained it’s why you can find
multiple versions of the same story in
various cultures and countries
throughout the world
those stories even when they’ve been
changed or adapted still contain those
kernels of wisdom as this particular
adaptation of a traditional story that
made its way across the ocean from the
Asian continent here to the west there
was a man and a woman who contemplated
the difference between heaven and hell
after all said the husband no one we
know has ever returned from either place
to bear witness conversations about life
after death became more frequent as they
grew older well said the wife why let
death come upon us why let death be our
guide let us seek the answer while we
yet have life so hand in hand they
descended into the lowest depths of Hell
found themselves in a room where a table
spread from end to end
far as the eye could see on the table
was all manner of food sweet meats and
rolls fruits and vegetables curved
handle jugs filled with honey and wine
and neck chairs ringed the table but
each one who occupied a seat was din and
one with eyes sunken in cheeks hollowed
out how could this be and then they saw
each one had elbows that no longer bent
and had been commanded to eat with a
fork that was five feet long so while
they were able to spear morsels of food
they could not get the food into their
mouths and so here in the midst of
Plenty people were left wanting for all
eternity ah so this is hell well hand in
hand they left the lowest steps of Hell
ascended into the uttermost reaches of
heaven found themselves in a room where
a table spread from end to end as far as
the eye could see on the table was all
manner of food sweet meats and rolls
fruits vegetables curved handle jugs
filled with honey and wine and nectar
chairs ringed the table and each one who
occupied a seat had elbows that no
longer bent and had been commanded to
eat with a fork that was five feet long
but here they were robust there was
conversation laughter and joy how could
this be and then they saw each one which
spear a morsel of food then turned and
begin to feed each other when speaking
of the importance of preserving
traditional stories revered storyteller
story mentor story coach Elizabeth Ellis
says they’re not good because they’re
old they’re old because they’re good
some time ago I was invited to represent
America the stimming voices festival in
Basel Switzerland I speak neither French
nor German I told all of my stories in
English over the course of the festival
and my last set on Sunday afternoon I
packed up my instruments I was heading
away from the festival grounds when I
heard someone coming up behind me miss
miss miss miss miss and I turned to see
a couple kind of jogging over towards me
and she said um English very hard when I
hear English my ear closed but when I
hear your stories my ear open an honour
and spirit of a brown man who fed his
daughter the most precious of pearls in
the spirit of every storyteller across
time and place past and present who
speaks the traditional tales I
encourages all to create moments where
we can gather together to hear the
telling of the age-old stories and in so
doing allow our ears and our hearts to
open
[Music]
[Applause]
you
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